Soliders
by Spikesgirl58
Summary: Looking for a place to shelter from a Sierra storm, Tony, Senior, and Tali find a strange harbor with a familiar face. Part of the Foothills stories. Written for Maria Priest! Happy birthday!


"Any idea where we are, Junior?" Anthony DiNozzo, Senior, didn't take his eyes from the road. His cargo was far too precious to risk it on one of these crazy hairpin turns.

Tony used to hate it when his father called him that, but after all the love and support the man had shown both him and his little daughter, Tony couldn't begrudge the man a quirk or two. He turned the map over and tried to figure out where on the windy road they were.

He snuck a glance over his shoulder at his sleeping daughter, delighted that she'd finally nodded off. Her tummy and winding roads weren't the best of friends. Must be his side of the family. He could remember Ziva, wind whipping her hair, happiest when the ride was the wildest.

He shook his head to cast the image of the woman from his mind and tried to concentrate upon the sheet in his hands.

"It's okay to think about her, son."

"Okay, Dad, that's just creepy. How did you know I was thinking of Ziva?"

"A father never reveals his secrets." Then his mouth softened. "You do that head shaking thing and since you only do that with Ziva or Gibbs, and since you were looking at Tali, it wasn't hard to guess which one."

"I just wish… I mean, I hope I'm doing a good job. I want her to be proud of me… me, as a father. I never got much of a chance as anything else." He sighed. "I could never think of anything that would make me leave NCIS before she came along, but I guess we all have our Achilles heel."

"And such a pretty one to boot. Have you figured out where we are yet?"

"What? Oh, yeah." DiNozzo traced the road with his finger. "It looks like we are just about to come up to-"

"Jackson."

"Okay, that's more than creepy, Dad."

Senior pointed. "Road sign. Jackson is about five miles away. Stop there for the night?"

"Sounds as good as any place up here, unless you want to push for such places as Volcano or Dry Town."

"Dry Town? Perish the thought! Jackson, it is!" He glanced out of the window and made a face. "I'm just hoping we can beat the storm. I'm not so sure now going the back way was a good idea."

"You saw what the traffic was like on 80. We'd have been there until New Year's."

"And we may well be here until then. Let's hope there's room at the inn."

Illya Kuryakin was not a happy man. Well, that was a lie. In fact, he was happy. He had a good life, with a loving mate, a thriving business, loyal friends, but at the moment, he was far from happy. "Is it straight now?"

"A bit more to the left."

"Your left or mine?"

"Uh, mine. No, that's too far. Back more… a bit more, too much." Napoleon Solo was having a hard time with the tree. The more he tried to make it stand up straight, the more determined it was to tilt. There was a blast of profanity, in a selection of languages, from beneath the tree.

"Ah, now it's beginning to sound a lot like Christmas," Rocky joked from his position atop the ladder. He was busy hanging garland with Roxanne. "Nothing says the holidays to me as much as a cussing pine tree."

"Enough from the peanut gallery. That's good, Illya," Napoleon announced with a glare over his shoulder.

"He's immune, _Cara_ ," Matt was handing large gold ornaments to Celeste and Estella. The twins were standing on the bar in their stocking feet, trying to get the job done quickly before their boss dug his way out from beneath the tree. "And what is this peanut gallery?"

"Peanut gallery. It comes from a show called Howdy Doody."

"They made a show about poop?" Celeste scrambled from the bar and helped her sister down. As Illya stood and shook pine needles from his hair, he shot a look in their direction.

"No, it was a puppet," Illya said. "And I know you were on the bar. You two look far too guilty to not be up to something."

"Darn it," Estella muttered. "Don't worry, boss, we'll disinfect it."

"Not until you finish the job." Illya nodded to the half decorated bar. "Back up you go. Matt, will you grab the lights? And please tell me you untangled them."

Matt appeared with a large cardboard box, from the top of which protruded a dozen or so lights. He carried it to the wall and fished around until he found a plug. He plugged it in and stood back. The tangled lights creative a halo effect. "Just wait, _Cara_. She will grow on you, _si_?"

"She will grow on me, no. Matt… you had one job…" Illya reached into the box and the top strand came away to reveal neatly wrapped lights. He looked at Matt, who was trying hard not to laugh. "You better behave yourself. Santa is watching."

"This Santa, he needs a better hobby than to spy on innocent boys and girls. He would be arrested in Italy." Matt knelt beside Illya and began to empty the box.

"So would God if he stepped out of line," Illya muttered. "Those Italian grandmothers don't let anyone get out of line."

"Stop pretending you aren't having fun, Illya." Napoleon turned his attention to finding the ornaments and garland for the tree. "I know better."

"That was a long time ago."

"In a galaxy far, far away," chimed in the twins as Rand and Henry, both red cheeked and dusted with snow, entered, carrying a wreath and fresh boughs. "Hey, look at Frosty!"

"Ha, ha…" Rand dropped his burden to the floor. "Request permission to return to the slave galley, sir." He saluted briskly.

Illya returned the salute. "I thought that was ho ho? Permission granted. Check the Prime Rib while you are back there."

"Should I start the Yorkshire puddings?"

"No, those will be to order." Illya checked his watch, shook it and checked it again. "Okay, we have an hour to finish up before Matt has to start to get serious, so everyone grab a box of ornaments and stand by."

Tony wrestled their suitcases up the narrow staircase. "Gotta say, Dad, it feels a little weird checking into the bridal suite with you."

"It was either that or sleep in the lobby." His father kissed the still-sleeping Tali on the temple. "I just thought she'd be more comfortable in a real bed."

"At least they had something." Tony glanced out a window as they climbed. "It's really starting to come down out there. It looks more like six than two. Was there anything open for the restaurant? Tali is going to be starved when she wakes up."

"Strangely enough, they recommended next door. Apparently we are just a few steps to one of the best restaurants in these parts."

"Here? In this podunk little town? Over their own restaurant. Well, I'm impressed."

"Careful, Junior. You know what they say about brown paper wrapping."

"Speaking of such, if we get stuck here, what are we going to do about Christmas?"

"The best we can." DiNozzo Senior juggled Tali around and opened the door to their room. It was fairly spacious as rooms went. "After all, Tali's gifts are in the car, we will just make do."

"Brr." DiNozzo shivered as he dropped the suitcases and walked to the wall thermostat. "Keep her coat on for a little while longer, Dad. She doesn't do cold well."

"A child of the desert." He arranged his sleeping granddaughter on the large bed and nodded. "Maybe you should build a fire."

"Ah, that was usually Tim's job."

"Junior, you are not telling me that you can't build a simple fire… are you sure you are my son?"

"Trust me, Dad."

Illya carried the last of the empty boxes to the store room and collapsed onto a stool. "How did I get this old?"

That drew a chuckle from Matt. He was busy deglazing a pan with some port.

"What are you laughing about?"

"You, _Cara_." The pan flared and Matt shook it until the flame went out. "You can say what you will, but you can still work a man half your age under the table. Trust me, this I know."

Illya smiled. "Where have the years gone, Matt? Do you realize that you are the same age as I was when we started Taste? So much as changed." He massaged his lower back. "And not in a good way."

Matt set the pan aside, wiped his hands on a cloth that hung from his apron strings and gave Illya a kiss. "And yet so little has."

"Hey, hey," Napoleon said. "None of that now."

Matt turned and gave him a fast kiss as well. Napoleon laughed. He did love Christmas so.

"That's better. So, what's going on?"

"Chef thinks he is old."

"He is," Napoleon answered without missing a beat.

"Hey," Illya protested. "I thought you'd be on my side."

"As usual, you didn't me finish. He is, but I'm older and much bolder." Napoleon held up a bottle for Matt's inspection. "Will this cognac work for your pate?"

"You need to ask Wes. I'm entrées tonight. " Wes was a young man who had come into Napoleon's and Illya's life as an abused and battered teen. With their help, he'd blossomed and become a self-assured adult. He'd decided upon drama as a major in college and along the way had taken a cooking class. That was all it had taken for him to switch majors and pursue a culinary career instead. He didn't stop acting, he just started working around it. Napoleon liked to joke that Wes was following in both their footsteps.

"Ask Wes," Napoleon repeated. "I can remember when I could glance at a sheet of paper and a month later repeat it word-for-word. Now I can't remember what I had for dinner last night."

" _Coq au vin,_ spinach and ricotta gnocchi and baby vegetables," Illya answered. "Have you seen my glasses?"

"Head."

"And this is why we have wedded bliss." Illya slipped his wire rims back into place and pushed off the stool. "Back to the war."

"We are done out front and just in time. The dining room is trimmed, the halls are decked, the logs are crackling in the fire place and the first reservation is in fifteen minutes."

"Chef, we have a problem." Roxanne, their hostess, was looking very smart in her black and silver gown.

Illya started to answer and then shook his head. "Sorry, knee-jerk reaction."

"Oh, no, if there's a _problema,_ feel free." Matt ladled a rich dark broth into the pan and smirked as Illya dipped in for a taste.

"That's very good. Bold and flavorful without being salty."

"Rand is _il_ _monarca_ of sauces."

"Our problem, Chef? Chefs? Anyone?"

"What is wrong, my sweet?" Napoleon caught her in an embrace and twirled her in a few dance steps before carefully dipping her.

"No idea," she murmured softly.

"Careful or I will have you dance away all my issues, _Cara_ ," Matt said, lowering the flame beneath the pan.

Napoleon uprighted Roxanne and bent to her hand. "As you wish."

"You're in a mood." Illya could only sigh and shook his head. "Now, the problem, Roxanne?"

"What? Oh, we have a reservation for a child. They just came in."

"All right, that's problematic. What is the age?"

"Four."

Matt looked panicked. "What do four-year- olds eat?"

"Besides crayons and paste? No Idea. Have a nice evening, Chef." Illya clapped Matt's shoulder and turned to leave.

" _CARA!?"_ Matt's eye were wide.

"Mac and cheese, Matt," Napoleon answered as he joined Illya. "If push comes to shove, make the child macaroni and cheese."

"But…"

"Think simple, Matt. Little kids like simple." Illya was barely managing to hide his smile.

" _Non lo faccio semplice_."

"Then you had best figure out how to."

Illya led the way out of the kitchen and into the main part of the restaurant. Already the tables were filling up. It had been a good season and rarely was there an empty table here, despite the change in ownership.

Now with the tree up and additional decorations, the place was set for their own Christmas party tomorrow. Then Taste would close for a week and reopen for New Year's Eve. It used to be something Illya looked forward to with a passion – a week for sleeping late and spur-of-the-moment love making. Now that he was retired, he still enjoyed the time, but for different pursuits. How the mighty had fallen.

Napoleon paused at the crowded bar to check on supplies, once a sommelier, always a sommelier.

"Ducky?"

 _That's a stupid way to address the Canard ala Orange_ , Illya thought.

"Ducky, is that you?"

Despite himself, Illya looked. There was a man about Matt's age with a young child and an older man. He was standing and staring at Illya. Then suddenly he broke from the table and came up to Illya to hug him.

"Man, Duck, you are looking good. How's Gibbs? And Tim, but don't tell him I asked. And Bishop? Is she doing okay?"

Illya struggled his way out of the hug and tried to ignore the curious stares of the people around him. "Sir, I'm afraid you are mistaken. I am not who you think I am."

The man paused. "Ducky, it's me, Tony. You remember my dad, Senior, and this is Tali, my daughter. Well, Ziva's and my daughter."

"Something wrong?" Napoleon came up to an-obviously Illya.

"This man thinks he knows me."

His older companion spoke up. "I have to admit the resemblance is uncanny. You aren't Dr. Mallard?"

"Illya Kuryakin. I own the place."

Tony snapped his fingers. "That's it. Once Kate asked Gibbs what Ducky looked like when he was younger and Gibbs said, "Illya Kuryakin." We didn't know exactly who he meant."

"Gibbs…" Illya began to nod slowly. "I ran into him at a bar once. He was getting the stuffing knocked out of him by several soldiers. I evened the odds for him. How is he?"

"Great! He's great. Or at least he was the last time we saw him"

Illya was growing uncomfortable with the increased scrutiny from the restaurant patrons. "Have you ordered yet?"

"We just did."

Illya signaled one of the waiters. "Have their meal delivered to me at the house." He then looked at the table. "I think we should move this to some place more private. I love this town, but it is small and gossip moves quickly. Napoleon?"

Napoleon grinned. He loved guests. "I'll go ahead and open the place up."

Roxanne came over to the table, her own curiosity having gotten the better of her. "Chef?"

"Ah, Roxanne, meet some friends of a mutual friend. I'm releasing their table."

She smiled slightly. "Yes, Chef."

Illya turned back to the trio as they donned the jackets. Tali seemed too mesmerized by the tree to see anything else. "Shall we?"

Illya led them the short distance between Taste and the house he shared with Napoleon. As they entered, they were greeted by soft music, low lights and a crackling fireplace, but nothing caught Tali's attention like the three cats lounging in front of the hearth.

"Kitty!" she cried and tried to pull out of her father's grasp.

"You have to go slowly, Tali. Um… shoot. I can't remember the Hebrew for slow."

Napoleon supplied it as he entered the room, carrying dishes and at Illya's shocked expression, he grinned. "I dated a lovely Jewish girl when I was young. I nearly converted for her."

"What happened?"

"I was too fond of my Friday nights."

"This is lovely." The older man looked around. "Cozy."

"If by that you mean small, then yes, it is very cozy. You should have seen it before the remodel." Napoleon gestured to the sofa. "Please relax. What can I get you to drink?"

"Scotch, neat," Anthony Senior said and he picked an armchair to relax in.

"I can do that. And for you, sir?"

"Tony. You can call me Tony. Um, wine?"

"Napoleon owns a wine shop. You'll have to be more succinct than that."

"Um, red wine?" Tony tried again.

Napoleon laughed. "I think I have something that you will like." He disappeared into the kitchen.

Illya knelt by the cats, petting each one in turn. "This is Brunir. This is Roux and that lump over there is Fremir."

"Do they like children?" Tony joined them, holding Tali within an arm's reach of the trio. For their part, none of them had moved except Fremir, who rolled over.

Tali held out a hand and Roux first sniffed, then rubbed her head against the small fingers. Tali's eyes went wide and she looked at her father.

"No idea, but I think she likes cats." Illya smiled as child and cats became acquainted.

Tony was fumbling with his cell phone. "Here. I want to show you something." He handed it to Illya, who was smiling until he saw the screen.

"I don't understand."

"That's Ducky."

"I never wear bowties," Illya protested.

"Just ugly checkered pants," Napoleon said, carrying in a tray of sliced fruits and cheese.

"We didn't mean to put you out like this," Tony said, watching Tali interact with the cats. Napoleon handed him a glass.

"Nonsense, we love company, especially at this time of the year." He passed a glass to Senior and then squatted of offer Tali a cup. She grew shy and hid her face in her father's chest.

"It's okay. It's hot chocolate. Do you like hot chocolate?"

"I don't know that she's ever tried it." Tony took the cup and blew on it. "Try this, Tali, it's yummy."

The little girl eyed him warily and Senior laughed. "I told you those Brussel sprouts would come back to haunt you."

She cautiously took a sip and her eyes widened and she started to gulp it. "Careful, sweetheart, it's hot."

"So what brings you to Jackson?"

"We were trying to get to the City and got turned around."

"I'll say. It's about two hours and change that way." Napoleon pointed towards the kitchen as he settled onto the couch with his wineglass. Illya grimaced as he got to his feet and joined him.

"You two live here?"

"Over thirty years now…" Napoleon shook his head. "Where does the time go?"

Senior smiled as he watched his son. "I know what you mean. It's seems like yesterday that Junior was her age."

There was a fast knock at the door and a tall young man walked in, festively decorated with snow. "Boy, it's coming down out there. I have a special delivery here for a dinner ala Taste."

"Gentlemen, let me introduce our son, Wes." Napoleon gestured the man closer and Illya stood to take the serving trays from him. "Wes, this is…"

"Anthony DiNozzo, Senior and Junior."

"My pleasure. Any friend of my dads is a friend of mine."

Wes knelt beside Tali. "And who are you, sweetie?"

"Tali," she managed after a moment."

Wes stretched out on his stomach. "They're great, aren't they?" He wiggled a bit of stick and Brunir attacked it. Tali squealed and clapped her hands.

"So why San Francisco?" Napoleon watched Illya start to work on the table.

"Tali is from Israel. I wanted her to have the sort of Christmas I used to have. However, I have a feeling that isn't going to happen."

"You got that right. When it snows like this, the best thing to do is hunker down and wait it out. We're a small town and it takes a while to dig Jackson out. Wes, you might want to give Chef a hand."

"What? Oh, sorry." He was on his feet and to the table in two bounds. Tony got up and settled into a chair not far from his daughter. His eyes never left her.

"Where are you staying?"

"The National."

"Ah, that's practically next door." Napoleon caught Illya's eye and the blond head bobbed. "You know, since you are in essence stuck here, why not have Christmas with us? We are having our big Christmas party tomorrow night and then we are closed for a week. We'd be happy to show you around. We might not be The City, but there is still a lot to see and do here."

"We couldn't… could we, Dad?" Tony looked from his father to his daughter, happily playing with the cats in the glow of the tree.

"Junior, I believe we would be looking a gift horse in the mouth if we declined." Lower, he murmured, "We have her gifts in our trunk."

"Say no more. Santa often pops in for a fast visit here. In fact, I remember one year…"

Outside the snow fell in blizzard proportions and the wind howled as it rocked the windows in their frames, but nothing could dampen the laughter and joy from within the little Jackson home.


End file.
